Eidolon
by LolWorthy
Summary: Orihime inherits a house from her deceased brother, but it seems to be a little...haunted. Something's after her tonight, something from the past. Au Ichihime with a splash of Hichihime.
1. Run

I do not own Bleach or it's characters. This work is pure fanfiction.

* * *

Run!

Run!

_Run!_

Her heart is beating erratically in her chest as she stumbles blindly through the dark forest, the pounding of her feet on the ground creating a damning rhythm. She knows he can hear her every step. She knows he can hear that fear, just as surely as he can smell it on her.

_Run!_

She's terrified. She could swear she feels his breath on her neck.

And really, she shouldn't be here. Curiosity will kill her, satisfaction be damned.

You see, it all started with her brother telling her a story as a child. Outside her village lived a terrible creature, he said. It used to be that our village gave him a sacrifice, he said. Her brother said to her, Orihime, my darling sister, this tradition wore out a long time ago, but the beast still exists. He sleeps, Orihime.

She curses herself for not believing him.

Her brother tells her, Orihime, the beast needs to mate. He exists, sister. I hear him sometimes. Once, he even saved me from falling to my death at the cliffs here. He is not always so terrible, her brother whispers. She blamed it on her brother's delusions.

Don't look back, don't look back…

What brought her here, running through the dark forests of her home, was the house her brother left her in his dying will. The house itself was beautiful for what squalor she was accustomed, and she was only too delighted to move in, thanking her brother in her heart for always caring for her, even in death. Only, strange things started to happen.

It started with the growling. It started with odd, burning heat beside her in her bed when there was no one else present. It started with ghosting hands touching her in places she had never been touched before. She told herself she was imagining things, dear reader. She would have to be delusional to think these things where real.

Run!

She panted hard, running towards the village, several miles away from her home. She stumbles, tripping over roots, in hysterics, sobbing dryly, willing herself to remain quiet. Please, _please._ Her skirts trip her when the roots don't. Her chest heaves with effort underneath her bodice, and she can feel herself choking.

She makes the fatal error of collapsing. Her hands are scraped by rocks and leaves and dirt grinds into her palms. She can smell the crisp scent of the forest all around her and gives one last quiet sob before turning to look at her assailant, walking slowly towards her now, his steps silent, but presence foreboding.

His lips curve in a feral grin.

"Why so scared, my dear?"

Her heart pounds harder still. _Run!_

She can only hold her breath in response as he stands in front of her, adjusting his coat. She scoots back, wary of this orange haired maniac.

"Had enough running, sweet?" His voice purrs, and she could swear she's never been closer to fainting in her life. He extends his hand out to her, and she takes it with hesitation, he lifts her to her feet, brushing the dirt from her with a tenderness which makes her realize, more acutely, that it's silent, so very silent. No one is around here for some miles, she thinks. She shivers and realizes it's much colder than she'd thought originally.

"Poor thing," he says, wrapping his body around hers, growling possessively as he grips her to him.

"I won't hurt you," he says, "much." He smiles

"You will enjoy this. I've watched you for a long time, my dear. I know every bit of your body." That comment unlocks every memory of spectral hands, caressing lovingly, all over her.

Her backside pressed firmly against him, and she knows he will eat her.

He groans, saying, "Oh Princess, I've wanted you so long, ever since you moved into that little house and long before then, mm," he breathes heavily with a husky tone in his voice, moving against her suggestively.

The bright moon above her is full, and she knows he is at his strongest. She revels in his familiar heat, knowing that she won't freeze, at the very least. His hands curve up her hips.

Before she even can blink, she's back in her house, the fire still roaring, everything left in its place before her panicked flight.

"Shunpo," he explains, as if she'd understand.

He sheds himself of his coat. He grins that feral smile and moves towards her, a worried look on his face. "You look so uncomfortable in that," his eyes dip to her chest, and she wonders if he can still hear her heart pounding. He moves to her, moving his hands to her breasts, tracing a line over them teasingly.

"Why," she breathes out.

His eyes meet hers. And there's something captivating lurking within them.

"Hmm?"

"Why are you doing this..?"

He chuckles softly, moving his lips to her ear, and whispering, "Because I have wanted you, my sweet. You will be my Queen." She shudders as he licks the skin of her neck, slow, nonchalant, torturing, and just like every other damn part of him. It pains her more than she cares to admit- she wants him.

He peels off layer after layer of her clothing, and she, his. His lips at her neck, whispering softly, licking, saying she is his, his mate, only his, forever, how delicious she is, how perfect, how lovely, how soft and warm.

"I will go easy on you," he says, locking eyes with her. There's something hypnotizing about those black eyes…soothing, even…

She didn't know if she was supposed to thank him, but in that moment, he sealed the distance, pressing his lips against hers.

He wrapped her legs around him, one hand pressing against the small of her back, and the other squeezing her thigh. Her arms wrapped around his neck as he carried her to the bedroom, kissing her softly here and there.

He lays her on the bed, her nails raking down his back as he kisses from her lips to her jaw to her neck to her chest, down, down to that place between her legs. He was traversing unconquered territory.

She says something in a husky whisper.

"What?"

"What is your name…?"

"Kurosaki Ichigo," he mutters against her dripping core. "And I know you are my Inoue Orihime. I know all about you, my love."

Recognition rips through her, and Orihime leans up at her elbows to look down at him between her legs.

He licks her, dragging his tongue through her, ending with a flick at her pearl. Her head rolls back and she moans, her fingers clenching the sheets. I remember you, she thinks, I remember you.

His hands squeeze her thighs and she knows he knows.

She remembers her childhood, playing with a young boy, Kurosaki Ichigo, who she loved with a love reserved only for sweet innocence. Why didn't she realize it before?

"Mmm..." Between licks, he says he will explain about his kind some time later, when he is completely sated. She bites her lip, feeling close to something she doesn't know, some anticipation. She doesn't know, but Oh, God does she want more.

He smirks against her, and he says he prefers she call him Ichigo. Up until that moment, she hadn't been cognizant that she had been moaning what she was thinking. Her fingers release their death grip on the crumpled sheets and curl in his hair as her back arched while he sucked on her. Hardly a second later and she's coming, coming, _coming_. She would swear she could have pierced the heavens with the keening cry that issued forth from her swollen lips. He continued licking her, feeling satisfied with the sounds she made.

It's all terribly embarrassing for her.

He doesn't stop his ministrations even after she's returned back to Earth from her orgasm. He licks and licks and she could swear mountains would erode away before he ever stopped. Centuries could pass, eons, and he'd still be there, between her legs. He stuck his tongue inside her and thrust it in and out and she was coming, again.

Her head was spinning as she moaned, helplessly, not even fully aware when he kissed back up to her chest, his index and ring fingers spreading her lower lips. When he pushed his middle finger inside her, she could feel herself clamp down hard on it. He hissed, knowing that if he didn't get her wetter and more prepared for him, she'd be in quite a bit of pain.

_Run!_

The action, let alone the thought, was so lost to her now that she didn't care if he completely ravished her to the point where she couldn't walk again, ever. Strangely enough, his tenderness was reminiscent of the Ichigo she knew all those years ago, even if his eyes were strange, and even if he was doing things to her that the old Ichigo would never even think to do.

And even if he was the Beast her brother warned her about. Those vestiges of who he _was_ only served to reassure her.

His ring finger joins his middle finger inside her. "Mine," he growls in her ear, "Only mine." It scares her, just a little, but she's lost, captivated by him.

She's almost there, again, but he stops. She whimpers, and he grins, his dark eyes gleaming in the light.

"I want to hear you beg, Princess," he chuckles as he traces, with feathering touches, the lips of her, down there. Her eyes shut tightly, and she whispers.

"What was that?" He dips his fingers into her, teasing.

She lifts her hips and looks up at him with a pleading look on her face, "Please!"

"Louder," he commands her, brushing his thumb against her abused clit.

She cried out louder, whimpering his name, Ichigo, Ichigo, over and over again. Oh please, _please_. She is rewarded with his caresses, and she comes again, for what seems like the billionth time. Her body shakes as it washes over her. Her heart pumps fast, beating such a quick staccato that she swears the drum line of her life could be over at any minute.

He doesn't bother licking his fingers clean, grabbing hold of her hip and guiding the tip of his manhood to her entrance, watching her orgasm play out on her face. Ichigo rubs against Orihime, ready to slide home. He watches her face for the second she relaxes. The second he sees she's calmed down, he pushes in, just the head of it. Before she knows it, she's on top of him, with his…thing…pushing up into her. He pulls down on her hips, impaling her fully.

She could swear she saw stars behind her eyes. It hurt. It hurt like hell. It felt like an arrow had pierced her. For what seems like eternity, she feels herself arched in pain, every muscle screaming out in agony. Her eyes are screwed shut as she hisses her anguish. Her muscles tense one last time before relaxing out of exhaustion.

He twines his fingers with hers, pushing up on her palms, he lifts his hips, pushing just a little bit further before pulling almost completely out, going slow, slow, slow. It still hurts, but at least she has a little control over how deep he goes, how hard, how fast. The thought of having even a semblance of control makes the pain feel a little better.

She realizes that she's tired, so tired. Though it's the last thing she wants to do, she leans forward, resting on his chest. Her eyes slide shut, feeling him finish inside her. The one last thing she thinks before she falls into a deep, dreamless sleep is…

_Run!_

And she's out like a light.

* * *

There is no evidence. It was like he was never here, nor did he ever exist, and she wondered, was it all a dream? Or a nightmare?

There was no ash scattered on the floor from her open fireplace, the grating firmly in place. There was no dirt on her hands or dress and nothing was broken and no warmth in her bed but her own. There was no scent on her pillows when she awoke besides her own.

She shook her head. Living here must have made me delusional, she thinks to herself. She started a smaller fire than what she had imagined the night before to warm up her house. She ate some fresh bread and cheese for breakfast.

She spent the morning arranging her medicinal supplies, herbs and remedies. She stepped outside to water her well manicured garden and survey the cold. Soon she would walk through the forest and to the village for supplies and to set up shop herself. She was the town's witch after all.

It was her daily monotony at its best.

* * *

I would enjoy a review or two. Please?


	2. Contract

I do not own Bleach or it's characters. This work is pure fiction, blah blah.

A/n: I realized something. Why I love AU: if it doesn't happen in the actual cannon, technically every last fanfic is AU. It might take place a little in the cannon universe, but from the moment _you-_and not the real author of the real story- start writing your own version....well, you get the point. That's why I love AU. It's all encompassing.

* * *

The title "Town Witch" was a joke to Orihime. In all reality, she was a fairly normal human, with no truly unnatural powers or abilities. There was no powerful magic, no black cat, no flying broomsticks lifting her silhouette to the moon, no pointy hats, no raucous cackling, no warts. She'd fall off that broom if she ever got it even a foot above the ground anyway. Pointy hats were more so a Christian thing and, as of late, she hadn't dealt with any wart inducing toads.

There were only her herbs and vials.

Going into town was a pleasure, but once she set up shop, it was always a bit tedious dealing with the townspeople, who all had a lack of understanding for her area of expertise. They needed her, but still considered her suspicious. They didn't _really _hate or fear her, but were wary of her products, no matter how they would be helped by them. The young woman would smile anyway, then tend to their illnesses. She considered herself lucky she wasn't burned or tossed in a cold river.

Her biggest problem had to have been the Father. For him, he needed an overly large palace of a church, white, pure, beautiful, but daunting all the same to the average little village. His monastery, in a way, corrupted the size of the village, towering over everyone like some sort of ever watchful sentinel. Always weighing the faults. Sinners, every one of them.

She yawned. Her scalp tingled. Shiver. At the moment, all she wanted to do was to go back home and sleep some more, too tired from the night before, which, in itself, was bizarre. How can a dream make you _more_ run down and tired?

She pondered over the dream as she tended to her usual customers, going through the trivial motions of "hello," "how-are-you," "is-your-family-in-good-health?" that she always went through. The answers were always the same, yes, my family is doing well. Yes, such and such relative thanks you, yes. How much is this particular vial?

While this was the same rut, this sameness is what gave her sense of self. _This is me, this is what I do_, she thinks.

She frowned for a moment, recalling her brother's anxiety over her calling. He had disagreed so vehemently, threatening her that if she continued on with this nonsense, he would throw her out. I have to do this, brother, she told him, her heart brimming with conviction. He looked at her once, looked deep into her eyes, and understood, backing down with a defeated sigh. Instead of condemning her, he helped her. His pretty little sister, Orihime set off on her own.

She had returned a few years later, to a village she recognized but was no longer a part of. She refused to stay with her brother in the woods, too afraid to rely on him and show him that she wasn't competent enough to care for herself. She wanted him to be proud. It was the cruelest irony that her vast collection of medicinal knowledge couldn't save him from his the disease he had. Couldn't save him from his death…

In another hour or so, she would go to the orphanage and see what she could do to help out, she decided. And afterwards, she'd buy ingredients for cookies and fresh bread to make for them, maybe.

Today was shaping up to be a pleasant, peaceful day.

* * *

When she got home, she was utterly exhausted.

She hooked her bag on the back of a wooden chair and set a basket down on the table, taking out various items, fresh bread and cheese, flour and sugar, even a tiny bit of smoked meat and fish, which was a rare and wonderful treat for her.

Orihime was only a little concerned, however, that when she was in town, set up in her little stall, in the midst of the crowd, she had seen orange hair.

It simply _had to have been a coincidence._

The only explanation was that she was going insane, and what with the dream and her brother's death, she didn't really think the loss of sanity was impossible…

She chalked it up to loneliness. She chalked it up to fumes. Something had addled her brain, must have, or else she wouldn't _be_ this way…

…So what if she had seen that accursed orange hair? It meant nothing. Orange hair, while not really common, was still present in the town. He wouldn't be the only one. With this in mind, she played with a lock of her own hair with a frown.

As for loneliness, she had her garden…but when she thought about his arms wrapped around her, she felt warm. Very warm. She thought about how they made love and blushed. Her palm met her forehead. She had to stop this. She had to stop fawning over someone who was not real. Being a witch, she knew the limits of reality and magic and there was nothing like he was.

She stoked the fire and set her kettle before grabbing the watering can next to her door, heading outside, around to the side of her cottage.

* * *

Bright eyes watched her from deep within the forest, waiting for nightfall with patience. He had followed her throughout the day, making sure nothing bad happened to her. Always there to rescue the princess. She just didn't know it, not yet, anyway.

In a way, it was like she was still running. Still running from him, from her own power, from what past she had locked away. Running from the townspeople, from their understanding. Stupid girl. All she ever did was run. It was time for that to change.

He knew she was making up all the excuses she wanted in that silly little head of hers. It didn't matter. She'd know soon enough, his little witch. He'd already broken the seal on her dormant energies. Her birthright was sure to follow. He could picture it, a sleek black familiar or two, following her around, collecting knowledge for their mistress...

But there she was, running from her own perception. Running from her soon to be reality.

The demon stretched his long legs and leaned against a tree trunk, watching her titter to herself and the little creatures she found in her garden. Lizards, the occasional bird… He watched her finish and then head inside, her door still swung open. He watched her in the cottage, watched her emerge, pushing a small bit of dust and dirt out of her home with a broom.

He wondered if she knew that her feet were hovering, just a teensy bit, above the ground as she stepped.

All he had to do for now was wait.

It was time to make the pact. All the greatest witches made the pact with a powerful demon, after all.

He thought of his family, and how his father had made a pact with his mother… Love was not truly supposed to happen between witch and consort, but his father could not resist his chosen witch, and now it seems like neither could he. Although it was what he wanted to avoid, something in his demon blood called to Orihime, his queen, like nothing he'd ever felt before. His desire felt imminent and unstoppable. _Kind of like a natural disaster,_ he thought with a chuckle.

He watched her look up at the sky, at the sun setting over the treetops, at the rising moon. He watched with a smile as she wiped her brow and went back inside to set her fire. Poor little witch. It was indeed getting cold…

He licked his lips, thinking about the last cold night they shared.

Tonight, she would not be able to run from him anymore.

* * *

She lifted her head from her place at the chopping board to give a quick peek over at her cauldron, checking to see if the water was boiling. It wasn't quite there yet. Soon enough it would be and she'd have to add her ingredients. Her spell book was open on the counter in front of her, flipped open to the "Favorable Winds" potion. The potion itself was designed to give the user a day of monetary luck, be it in trade or in agriculture or even in gambling. It even cured those who were reputed to have no luck whatsoever. Favorable Winds being her highest selling potion, making a large batch every week or so to fill up the cheap flasks the villagers presented her was only too necessary. Potions like these, after all, were what paid for her way of life.

Tomorrow she would bring a few vials for her closest friend Tatsuki, along with some sickness remedies. Tatsuki worked in the brothel on the edge of town, closest to the forest. There were others around, but hers was considered the most profitable and respectable. Every whore in the area wanted to get in on the action. Tatsuki, who had once been a great captain of a ship, had disguised her gender aboard the vessel for years, having ruled with an iron fist. No one around could beat the woman in a fight, and everyone knew it. Her exploits were legendary, and although she was condemned around the place for her impersonation of a man, no one dared mess with her.

It was her brothel, after all, that was the best around. The third class dumps that would be the other choice for those men were rife with syphilitic whores. Who knew what else those women could be carrying?

So the townspeople put up with her. It was one of the reasons they had bonded: both were outcasts and frowned upon by the church.

Orihime lifted her cutting board over the now seething cauldron and pushed the minced ingredients into the brew with her knife. She watched, waiting for the exact moment when the steam turned periwinkle before taking it off the fire. With a ladle, she spooned the contents of the cauldron into a few jars. She tipped the rest into a cup, the fog streaming over the brim. She quickly grabbed the lids of the jars and covered them, for it was the fog that was most important. After capping them, she set them next to the grating of her fireplace, letting the mists cool slowly to a sort of softer shade of sky blue. That will take about an hour or so now, she thought, wiping her hands on her apron.

She took the cup and put it outside on the windowsill above her rose bushes. The periwinkle mists caressed each bud and leaf, turning even dying stems bright and lively. When the mist would stop, the brew cold, she'd pour it on her apple trees.

Orihime moved back into her kitchen, about to start a sickness potion when there was a knock at her door. Wondering if it could be Tatsuki, who'd been known to stop in from time to time when business was slow, she stepped to open the door to her visitor.

_He_ stepped in. Her impossible fantasy.

He looked her deep in the eyes, and she felt a wave of anxiety wash away. Those wonderful eyes…

"We need to talk, Queenie." He walked in, pulling a wooden chair from the table to sit. He dragged the other chair around to his side and patted it in a sit-here-now gesture. She obeyed. _When will these delusions leave me be?_

"It's time we made the pact."

"Pact?"

"The blood pact," he paused, looking at her, "Come now, Orihime, don't tell me you don't know what a blood pact is."

She shook her head helplessly, "No, I don't know what you're talking about…"

He sighed, not really mad at her, but wondering how she could have undergone training, but not know the most important secret sorcery technique. Perhaps her mentor had meant to keep her from obtaining real magic.

"Look, as a demon, a devil, a spirit, a type of contract is made between those of my kind, and a witch. This is how a witch gains power. If you don't already have a pact, but can wield some magic, this means that you still have a lot of untapped potential."

He looked at her with a bit of a grin.

"What?"

"See here, Queenie, you were a princess the night before, but now you have your King!" He made a grand gesture at himself.

"I broke your seal last night. I took your virginity," he grinned, "which means that you and I have completed part of our pact, love."

She sat in shock, absorbing what he was saying slowly.

"It wasn't a dream," she exclaimed dumbly.

He leaned over to whisper in her ear, "No. Indeed it wasn't."

She shivered and held her breath.

"W-what's the second part to the pact…?"

"You're going to brew a nice little potion, and then you'll give yourself to me, little witch," he growled.

"All of you."

* * *

Well. That took significantly longer than I'd expected. So far I've got the story mapped out, so I know where the plot will go now. Only problem is writing the actual chapters. xD

Review if you'd like. I'd enjoy it.


	3. Fulfillment

**A/N:** It's been forever. Sorry, but I had forgotten where I wanted to go with this. Time flew by really fast! More coming in the future, hopefully. Lemme know what you think, I know some of you have been waiting eagerly for this...

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

"I'm going to pretend to consider this for a moment," she said, thinking of Tatsuki, and how she would handle this. She wouldn't be pleased, that's for sure. The man was arrogant and attractive. Tatsuki always said those were the worst. She never realized why, but she would heed her friend. She squarely set herself on guard. She wouldn't fall for his tricks.

"If we're going to do this, you're going to have to tell me everything…about what we need to do, why, and how. And anything else," she added, just for good measure.

And he did.

She thought of Sora. She thought of her own weakness. She thought of the kids in the village, the ones slowly dying in their beds, starved and plagued and alone. She thought of the misery carved into the faces of the women in Tatsuki's service.

* * *

That night it was clear to her that she must be insane. As she threw the small cup of gold liquid into the flames and drank the second cup herself as he did the same- arm around hers, like a marriage of sorts- she gathered up all her strength. In the small clearing, the fire was taller than the two of them and burned brightly, blindingly, with the topmost flames licking the moon.

Hesitantly, she striped off her clothes, left in nothing but her thin cotton shift. The cold seeped into her despite the large, crackling fire.

"That needs to go as well," to which, she blushed to see him fully naked.

She removed the offending item of clothing and covered herself with her hands, trying to shield herself from him. He gently moved her arms away and looked at her with a tenderness she thought was previously completely erased. She smiled nervously as the sound of drums began, something primal, urging her to move.

He stepped into the flame.

"Dance for me," he said.

"W-What? That's so…indecent…"

"There is nothing indecent about you. And this is an ancient ritual."

"I don't know how to dance," she cried, grasping at straws.

"Move to the rhythm. You hear it, don't you? Your magic has it's own song. Just listen. If it helps, close your eyes. This is how the ritual starts."

"O-okay…" she said, feeling like a fool. The music inside her flared, something slow and sensual was building in her as she danced around the flames that wreathed her partner's body. She gave in to it and felt something fill her. She was no longer cold.

She burned, the fire sending its tongues to catch her, caressing her, wrapping around her and retreating, like waves. It casted it's shadows over her, mysteries that she would soon learn of, knowledge filling her. Her eyes opened as she gasped, wetness streaming down her thighs as he began to chant, holding out a hand to her, "With this, I tether my fate to yours; I give my life unto you, my power, my soul is yours for the taking…"

His hand in hers, he guided her around him once more before leading her into the flame to stand with him. Their fingers twined together, Orihime felt power she had never known before, streaming like a river, cool and swift, coursing through her veins as she kissed him, the flames dancing with them. He desperately whispered, _master,_ caressing her as his hands dropped from hers, eliciting shivers from the woman before him.

If she could feel like this, she wanted to stay in this fire forever.

His hands pressed her to him, urgent with the need to be closer, closer, closer. She spread her thighs for him, aching, and he pressed into her as they stood without an inch of space between them. The flames entered them, seeping through their pores as they formed their bond, glowing golden.

They came.

* * *

It had been a long time, but finally, he felt it. Another powerful witch had found her partner. It seemed like centuries of waiting, but he was nothing if not patient.

He smiled, running a hand through his dark brown hair, looking down at the orb in front of him. It was covered by glass, on it's pedestal, shedding dark light and power as layers formed and flaked off of it's surface. Dancing in front of him, pure seduction that those women in the whorehouse seemed desperate to achieve. He thought of that pirate bitch and sneered in disgust, shaking his head, unable to stop himself from thinking about her long legs, open to him. Her face, twisted in ecstasy under his ministrations, and he groaned, willing the bulge in his pants down. She was a whore. A slattern. She disgusted him, enslaved his thoughts. He would kill her soon enough, and in doing so, break her hold over him. He would purify her in flames.

One more damned witch's soul and it would be complete. He caressed the glass lovingly, wanting nothing more than to simply devour the holy relic for it's power. Becoming a saint was all he dreamed of as of late, and in those dreams, he annihilated the whole disgusting, perverse, _unholy _little village his glorious fortress-church resided in.

Saint Aizen… he rather liked the sound of that.

He left his most secret sanctum, walking slowly up the stairs through the bookshelf that led to his private chambers. It quietly closed behind him. He placed the hideously thick framed glasses back on his nose and adjusted his clothes as he stepped out.

Aizen tapped the sleeping guard outside on the shoulder, and with a benevolent Father's smile, asked for him to fetch Gin. The guard leapt up, embarrassed and ashamed, but was relieved to see the soft amusement grace the handsome man's face. The young guard vowed to protect this man much better in the future as he hurried along down the corridor, anxious to find the High Priest's favorite pupil, knowing that they likely were planning the next mass to suit the gossip of the town.

* * *

Deep in the forest, a creature stirred, haunting blue eyes searching_, searching_, as it prowled. The profound power it sensed made it lick it's lips, rough tongue dragging over fangs that would easily rip out a man's throat. But this creature was much larger than a mere human being. He felt the change come over him.

He stood on the outcropping outside his cave as a man, proud and naked and gazing up at a moon the color of gold with eyes, but stalked down the mountainside a panther.

* * *

**A/N:** Setting a bit more groundwork, it's a little bit sloppy and short, but it's kinda important. Rival factions emerge! Who is the true evil here?


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